Sleep and Its Derangements

by William A. Hammond

From these four divisions of causes, Bertrand makes four kinds of somnambulism—the essential, the symptomatic, the artificial, and the ecstatic. As he wrote nearly twenty years before the publication of Mr. Braid’s remarkable researches, he was of course unacquainted with that form of artificial somnambulism now known as hypnotism, and which may properly be included in his third class. I shall simplify his arrangement by dividing the several kinds of somnambulism into two classes—the natural and artificial.

Natural somnambulism may occur in persons who exhibit no marked deviations from the standard of health, and in whom there is no very evident nervous excitability. It is usually, though not always, manifested during ordinary sleep, and it is common for authors to speak of it as being necessarily connected with a dream. Thus, Macario[111] says it is a sleep in which the nervo-motor system and all the other organs are put in action under the influence of a dream. A few cases cited from other authors, and from my own experience, will tend to the more complete elucidation of the symptoms of this curious affection. Bertrand[112] quotes the following instance from the Encyclopædia:

“The Archbishop of Bordeaux has informed me that when at the seminary he was acquainted with a young ecclesiastic who was a somnambulist. Curious to ascertain the nature of the malady, he went every night to the chamber in which the young man slept. He saw, among other things, that the ecclesiastic got up, took paper, and composed and wrote sermons. When he had finished a page, he read it aloud—if one can apply the term to an action done without the aid of sight. When a word displeased him, he wrote the necessary corrections with great exactness. I have seen the beginning of one of his sermons which he wrote in the somnambulistic state, and thought it well composed and correctly written; but there was an alteration which surprised me. Having used the expression ce divin enfant, he thought as he read it over that he would change the word divin for adorable. He therefore effaced the first word, and wrote the second above it. He then perceived that the word ce properly placed before divin would not do before adorable; he therefore added a t to the preceding letters, so that the expression read cet adorable enfant. The same person, an eye-witness of these facts, in order to ascertain whether or not the somnambulist made use of his eyes, put a card under his chin in such a manner as to prevent his seeing the paper on the table; but he still continued to write. Wishing still to discover whether or not he distinguished different objects placed before him, the Archbishop took away the paper on which he wrote and substituted several other kinds at different times; but he always perceived the change because the pieces were of various sizes. When a piece exactly like his own was placed before him he used it, and wrote his corrections on the places corresponding to those on his own paper. It was by this means that portions of his nocturnal compositions were obtained. These the Archbishop has had the goodness to send to me. The most astonishing among them was a piece of music written with great exactitude. A cane had served him for a ruler—the clef, the flats, and the sharps were all in their right places. All the notes were first made as circles, and then those which required it were blackened with ink. The words were all written below. Once they were in such large characters that they did not come directly under their proper notes. He soon, however, perceived his error, and corrected it by effacing what he had written and writing it over again.

“One night, in the middle of winter, he imagined himself to be walking on the bank of a river and seeing a child fall in. The severity of the weather did not prevent him from determining to save it. He threw himself on his bed in the posture of a man swimming, went through all the motions, and, after becoming well fatigued with the severity of this exercise, he felt a bundle of the bedclothes, which he took to be the drowning child. He seized it with one hand, while he continued to swim with the other, in order to regain the bank of the imaginary river. Finally, he placed the bundle in a place which he evidently determined to be dry land, and rose, shivering, with his teeth chattering as though he had emerged from icy water. He remarked to the by-standers that he was frozen, that he would die of cold, and that his blood was like ice. He then asked for a glass of brandy in order to restore his vitality; but there being none at hand, a glass of water was given him instead. He, however, detected the difference and asked peremptorily for brandy—calling attention to the great danger he incurred from the cold. Some brandy was finally obtained. He drank it with much satisfaction, and remarked that he felt much better. Nevertheless, he did not awake, and, returning to bed, slept tranquilly the rest of the night.”

Gassendi[113] had in his service a young man who every night arose in his sleep, descended into the cellar and drew some wine from a cask. Frequently he went out into the streets in the middle of the night, sometimes even he went into the country and walked on stilts, in order to cross a rapid stream which ran around the city. If he happened to awake from his sleep after having crossed this torrent, he was afraid to recross it so as to return home. Gassendi relates that when this man waked in the course of his perambulations he suddenly found himself in darkness, but as he had the faculty of remembering all that had taken place during his dream, and of recognizing the place where he found himself, he was able to grope his way to his bed. The darkness, therefore, which was an obstacle to the exercise of his sight when he was awake, was no impediment when he was in the state of somnambulism.

Dr. Prichard[114] cites from Muratori[115] the cases of Forari and Negretti, which are curious instances of the affection in question.

“Signor Augustin Forari was an Italian nobleman, dark, thin, melancholic, and cold-blooded, addicted to the study of the abstract sciences. His attacks occurred at the waning of the moon, and were stronger in the autumn and winter than in the summer. An eye-witness, Vigneul Marville, gave the following description of them:

“One evening, toward the end of October, we played at various games after dinner; Signor Augustin took a part in them along with the rest of the company, and afterward retired to repose. At eleven o’clock, his servant told us that his master would walk that night, and that we might come and watch him. I examined him after some time with a candle in my hand. He was lying upon his back and sleeping with open, staring, unmoved eyes. We were told that this was a sure sign that he would walk in his sleep. I felt his hands and found them extremely cold, and his pulse beat so slowly that his blood appeared not to circulate. We played a tric-trac till the spectacle began. It was about midnight, when Signor Augustin drew aside the bed-curtains with violence, arose and put on his clothes. I went up to him and held the light under his eyes. He took no notice of it, although his eyes were open and staring. Before he put on his hat, he fastened on his sword-belt, which hung on the bedpost; his sword had been removed. Signor Augustin then went in and out of several rooms, approached the fire, warmed himself in an arm-chair, and went thence into a closet where he had his wardrobe. He sought something in it, put all the things into disorder, and, having set them right again, locked the door and put the key into his pocket. He went to the door of the chamber, opened it and stepped out on the staircase. When he came below, one of us made a noise by accident; he appeared frightened, and hastened his steps. His servant desired us to move softly and not to speak, or he would become out of his mind; and sometimes he ran as if he were pursued, if the least noise was made by those standing around him. He then went into a large court and to the stable, stroked his horse, bridled it, and looked for the saddle to put on it. As he did not find it in the accustomed place, he appeared confused. He then mounted his horse and galloped to the house-door. He found this shut, dismounted and knocked with a stone, which he picked up, several times at the door. After many unsuccessful efforts, he remounted and led his horse to the watering-place—which was at the other end of the court—let him drink, tied him to a post and went quietly to the house. Upon hearing a noise, which the servants made in the kitchen, he listened attentively, went to the door and held his ear to the keyhole. After some time he went to the other side, and into a parlor in which was a billiard-table. He walked around it several times and acted the motions of a player. He then went to a harpsichord, on which he was accustomed to practice, and played a few irregular airs. After having moved about for two hours, he went to his room and threw himself upon his bed, clothed as he was, and the next morning we found him in the same state; for as often as his attack came on he slept afterward from eight to ten hours. The servants declared that they could only put an end to his paroxysms either by tickling him on the soles of his feet, or by blowing a trumpet in his ears.”

The history of Negretti was published separately by two physicians, Righellini and Pigatti, who were both eye-witnesses of the curious facts which they relate.

“Negretti was about twenty-four years old, was a sleep-walker from his eleventh year; but his attacks only occurred in the month of March, lasting at farthest till the month of April. He was a servant of the Marquis Luigi Sale. On the evening of the 16th of March, 1740, after going to sleep on a bench in the kitchen, he began first to talk, then walked about, went to the dining-room and spread a table for dinner, placed himself behind a chair with a plate in his hand as if waiting on his master. After waiting until he thought his master had dined, he removed the table, put away all the materials in a basket, which he locked in a cupboard. He afterward warmed a bed, locked up the house, and prepared for his nightly rest. Being then awakened, and asked if he remembered what he had been doing, he answered no. This, however, was not always; he often recollected what he had been doing. Pigatti says he would awake when water was thrown into his face, or when his eyes were forcibly opened. According to Maffei, he then remained sometimes faint and stupid. Righellini assured Muratori that his eyes were firmly closed during the paroxysm, and that when a candle was put near to them, he took no notice of it. Sometimes he struck himself against the wall and even hurt himself severely. Hence it would seem that he was directed in his movements by habit, and had no actual perception of external objects. This is confirmed by the assurance that if anybody pushed him, he got out of the way and moved his arms rapidly about on every side; and that when he was in a place of which he had no distinct knowledge, he felt with his hands all the objects about him, and displayed much inaccuracy in his proceedings; but in places to which he was accustomed he was under no confusion, but went through his business very cleverly. Pigatti shut a door through which he had just passed; he struck himself against it in returning. The writer last mentioned was confident that Negretti could not see. He sometimes carried about with him a candle, as if to give him light in his employment; but on a bottle being substituted, took it and carried it, fancying that it was a candle. He once said during his sleep that he must go and hold a light to his master in his coach. Righellini followed him closely, and remarked that he stood still at the corners of the streets with his torch in his hand not lighted, and waited awhile in order that the coach which he supposed to be following might pass through the place where light was required. On the eighteenth of March he went through nearly the same process as before in laying a table, etc., and then went to the kitchen and sat down to supper. Signor Righellini observed him, in company with many other cavalieri very curious to see him eat. At once he said, as recollecting himself, ‘How can I so forget? To-day is Friday and I must not dine.’ He then locked up everything and went to bed. On another occasion he ate several cakes of bread and some salad which he had just before demanded of the cook. He then went with a lighted candle into the cellar and drew wine, which he drank. All these acts he performed as usual, and carried a tray upon which were wineglasses and knives, turning obliquely when passing through a narrow doorway, but avoiding any accident.”